


Public / Private

by redvelvetdragon



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 09:57:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18808837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redvelvetdragon/pseuds/redvelvetdragon





	Public / Private

Technically Sherlock knows all too well how dangerous it is to anger John, especially when out on in public working a case. 

Technically Sherlock can't help it, or, at least that's what he tells himself.  

He's presently rattling off a deduction and making sure Lestrade and Sally both know just how idiotic their team has been for failing to pick up on the obvious clues. Behind him, John is very near snarling at him, telling him to knock it off. Sherlock continues. He feels manic with how utterly dumb the yard's been on this one. He's pretty sure all the evidence was right under Lestrade's nose this entire time. John's loping in a circle, trying to get closer but Sherlock doesn't let him. He _needs_ these imbeciles to realize their mistakes on this one. 

"Sherlock."

Oh shit! He knows he's in trouble now. When John says his name in that threatening, low, near-subsonic, growl of his, he's well aware he'd gone beyond the pale, that he's being more than a bit not good. It's also Sherlock's cue for John to slap some sense into him. 

Sherlock doesn't let him this time. He's frantic and slips away right as John's palm is about to make contact with his face. 

While the yard tries works out the rest of the case, Sherlock races into Lestrade's office to see if he can find the file will show much them how much they missed right under their noses..

The sound of the DI's door clicking closed brings his eyes up from the file cabinet and he sees John advancing on him, eyes blazing, nostrils flaring, putting the image of a predator in Sherlock's mind.

"You -" John rumbles, voice fury-soaked and devastating. A flash of confused alarm flits wide in Sherlock's eyes in the time it takes John to stride over and a solid, strong hand on his shoulder yanking him around and pushing him against the wall so his back bounces from impact.

"John-"

is his only warning before he feels a solid strong hand on his shoulder yanking him around. 

 

"I know how you hate for me to state the obvious so I won't. You know what you've done and what that means. Possibly what you

 

 Use parts from 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/309920

Obsession, Appassionato

 

And https://archiveofourown.org/works/990555

Bloody But Unbowed [BeautifulFiction](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifulFiction/pseuds/BeautifulFiction)

One warm hand strained for his shoulders, stroking along the back of his neck and twisting gently in his hair as Sherlock directed his regard to the centre of John's need. The broad blade of his tongue slashed from root to tip, and he traced the seam where John's legs met his torso. Gradually, he moved inwards until John's balls rested, soft and heavy, in Sherlock's palm and the skin behind spread taut beneath the firm press of his thumb.

 

 

 

 

 

After at their place use PinWheelsparks. And Mads_Ansley

 

 He faces John, nostrils flaring, and a shadow of confused alarm flits across John's eyes in the time it takes Sherlock to close the two strides between them and seize the back of his neck.

 

 

The words lit John up and burned him clean. It was blasphemy of the most beautiful kind.

â€œYes,â€� he gasped. â€œIâ€™ll worship no one but you.â€�

They peeled one anotherâ€™s clothes off as if their skin was made of delicate, scratchable gold, and John fell to his knees. Sherlockâ€™s hand was heavy against the top of his head, and it felt like a benediction.

John worshiped with his mouth, with lips curled round teeth and long, wet stokes of tongue. He took Sherlock in, licking and sucking, and it was strange and bright and wonderful. He worshiped at the temple of flesh and sinew, where saliva was their holy water.

Sherlock gasped above him. He moaned and sank his fingers into Johnâ€™s hair, tugging and creating bright shocks of pain that blurred into pleasure. He shouted as he came in hot spurts across Johnâ€™s tongue, who swallowed it down like communion wine.

John trembled through the aftershocks, and Sherlock laid him down on the carpet, shoving papers and stacks of books aside with a sweep of his hand. He got between Johnâ€™s thighs and put his mouth on Johnâ€™s cock that was already leaking and painfully hard, because turnabout was fair play in this religion.

John threw his head back, seeing stars, babbling incoherent words that were the new liturgy.

It was the first time John wanted church to go on and on.

 

 

 

 

And he still managed freeze up with shock when Sherlock moved to crowd him, to back him up against the door, invading his personal space in way that ought to have been awkward and uncomfortable. It must have shown on his face that he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to react; because there was a hint of superiority, and certainly a dose of smugness, mixed in with the amusement in Sherlock’s mesmerising eyes as he rested his hands on the door either side of John’s head.

 

“I’ll show you how good it can be,” Sherlock murmured, his gaze fixed on John’s lips. John licked them unconsciously, quickly, as the realization hit that he was out of his depth here. Not for lack of a safety net; Sherlock would surely back off if he said the word. Probably. But curiosity was winning out over everything else, and John was somewhat unsurprised to find that he didn’t want to say the word. He wanted this one-off encounter that Sherlock seemed to be offering, no strings, no consequences – and that was what he didn’t know how to handle.

 

It was a bit too frightening to consider the possibility that Sherlock didn’t intend this as a one-off occurrence.

 

Fortunately, Sherlock chose to take decisive and distracting action. He didn’t try to kiss him; instead he tilted his head, planted his lips on John’s neck, sucked on skin that would easily bruise with such attention. Bruises were the last thing on John’s mind. His head fell back against the door with a thud, eyes sliding half closed as he shifted to give Sherlock better access, steadying himself on his feet and supporting more of his weight with the door. Sherlock was only too happy to take advantage of the new expanse of skin being exposed; he pressed wet kisses all the way up to John’s earlobe, occasionally sinking his teeth in along the way and sending shivers tickling down the back of John’s spine.

 

By the time Sherlock pulled back, John could feel the whole right side of his neck tingling, and he was rock hard in his jeans, his erection pressing almost painfully against the zip. Not that he would have been able to hide even the slightest hint of arousal like this, not from the most observant man in the world, with Sherlock pressed against him from his chest down to his feet, rocking their bodies together at an infuriatingly slow pace. John really had to struggle against the urge to rub his cock against Sherlock’s thigh; no matter how welcome the relief would have been, he refused to throw away the few shreds of dignity he still clung to by behaving so desperately.

 

Sherlock, however, seemed intent on throwing a spanner in those works too. Sending him a smouldering glance, he dropped to his knees without a single word, and John found his mouth suddenly dry. His arms hung limply, uselessly, by his sides as Sherlock worked open his belt buckle, his trouser fastenings, and leaned forward to rest his open mouth on his cloth-covered erection. When he exhaled, warm breath travelling in waves over too-hot flesh, John honestly thought his legs might give way. It took every ounce of his concentration to stay on his feet, and there was nothing he could do to contain the low groan that escaped from his throat. Thus encouraged, Sherlock chuckled deeply – a sound that struck a dizzying chord and had John biting down on his lower lip – and pulled John’s cock free from his pants. There was barely a moment for John to register the cool air of the room hitting his overheated, throbbing erection before he discovered that Sherlock was not one for preamble.

 

The noise he let out this time was far more embarrassing – high pitched, keening – but there was nothing he could do. Sherlock had wrapped his lips around the head of his cock and flicked his tongue around experimentally, his eyes trained on John’s face, watching for the things that would cause reactions. John was sure that the faces he was making would be subject to endless mockery later, if nothing else. Then, just when he felt that he was perilously close to begging, Sherlock had mercy and moved on from the teasing flutters of his tongue. He let his jaw fall slack and slid his lips slowly further down, taking more of John as the seconds passed.

 

John, breathing heavily through his mouth and seeing bursts of light across his vision, was aware that life didn’t get much better than this. But his breath caught when Sherlock didn’t appear to be stopping, and he swore quietly, watching as best he could. And even watching couldn’t prepare him for the moment when he felt the tip hit the back of Sherlock’s throat, his entire cock engulfed in wet heat. It was as if a switch had been flipped. His hands came to life, fisting themselves in Sherlock’s soft hair, while his hips bucked forwards, and a string of only-vaguely-coherent obscenities spilled strong and fast from his mouth. Dignity be damned.

 

Sherlock took this suddenly aggressive behaviour in his stride, steadying John with hands on his thighs, hollowing his cheeks to provide suction as he let John set the pace. He watched with apparent pleasure the array of emotions displaying themselves on John’ face, the quivering muscles in John’ abdomen, the sounds John would rather never surfaced pouring with ever increasing volume into the room with them. Whenever he had a chance, he traced indiscernible patterns along the underside of John’s cock with his tongue, tightened his lips to increase the pressure, swallowed around him in a effort to draw him deeper still until John’s self control was a thing of the past.

 

John came with a full body shudder and a hoarse cry of something that might have been Sherlock’s name, his eyes clenched shut as he revelled in the sensation of Sherlock swallowing everything he had to offer. And when Sherlock decided it would be a good idea to lick him clean of any excess, John swore again, a long, low syllable that expressed everything and nothing. He gingerly released his hold on Sherlock’s hair, wanting to find it comical when it stayed sticking up in all directions but finding himself unable to think of it as anything but devastatingly attractive. As if the orgasm had sapped him of all confidence, he let his arms fall to dangle by his sides again, watching passively as Sherlock set him back to rights and hoisted himself to his feet again.

 

They stood for a long moment just staring at each other, Sherlock saying nothing and John not knowing what to say. Apart from the ruin of his hairstyle, and the tell-tale redness of his full, sinful lips, Sherlock was as composed and unreadable as ever. In comparison, John felt like an inexperienced schoolboy; he could feel a himself blushing, knew the marks on his neck would be difficult to hide, was still trying to get his breathing completely under control. At least he felt sure, as he stared at Sherlock, that his first homosexual encounter couldn’t have been a great deal better than that.

 

 

Then he did leave, and John was left alone and looking rather gormless in the empty room. He just hoped Sherlock intended to back that statement up at some point in the very near future.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

John likes taking his time, he take ages just slowing touching Sherlock’s skin among other things, reverential. It’s quite simply deserved, even more so than when the man shows off his clever thinking, for his skin is utterly smooth and sinfully soft. The sex comes only after hours of John cataloguing and memorizing every inch of Sherlock until the pale brunette is gasping and writhing, over-sensitized skin biting with John’s rough hands and stubble and teeth. John takes pride in his work, the lily- white flesh now dutifully scored nipped and scratched is a strawberries-and-cream complexion, and Sherlock’s perfect peach of an ass is a rosy pink from a playful slap. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The need for sex rises slowly with John, though Sherlock is naughty and desperate and bossy. But John prefers taking his time, prepping Sherlock with one-two-three-four thick fingers. Stretching and scissoring and pressing on his prostate until Sherlock comes twice. John loves this, watching Sherlock’s lithe little body arch and strain and  come undone, how broken and helpless and sobbing he is. It satisfies in some unexplored, deep seated, cave-man way .

 

Patient ever, John waits until the last of the trembling and wild clenching die down before he pulls Sherlock close and into John’s lap for heady kisses.

A slow relentless rocking drives John deeper and deeper into his love’s tight sweet hole. Sherlock thoroughly comes apart with high wails and rough scratches and bites along a tanned chest and shoulders; John doesn’t mind. Rather likes having Sherlock’s marks on him, tells him the intensity for Sherlock must be a thousand-fold more. Eventually Sherlock’s third organs crests and he screams John’s name. That sound and sight is enough for John, his love coming, impaled deeply on his manhood.

They stay like that for another twenty minutes or so until John finally gives in and pulls out, both of them hissing at the loss. John never once lets Sherlock out of his arms. And they’ll stay that way until morning. 


End file.
